


They both end in trouble and start with a grin

by susurrant



Series: Roads [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Handcuffs, M/M, Unrelated Winchesters, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4274820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susurrant/pseuds/susurrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Dean is a street kid that John picks up on a hunt. John figures it’s about time Dean learned how to slip a pair of handcuffs, just in case he gets nabbed by the cops and needs to beat a quick escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They both end in trouble and start with a grin

**Author's Note:**

> This is a scene from a longer fic I've been working on, but didn't seem to fit anywhere within the fic, and I realized it could stand alone. Dean is about nineteen here.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up the moment he sees the cuffs.

“Uh - ”

“I’m showing you this just in case, understand?” John tosses him a paperclip and Dean catches it with a hand cupped against his chest. The rest John dumps in a small pile on the nightstand.

“You can keep those tucked in pockets, the waistband of your pants, the lining of your jacket. Anywhere you can get to easy,” John continues. He’s pretty sure Dean already does, but it’s not a suspicion John wants to confirm unless he has to. 

For things like cuffs, paperclips will do fine - but at some point the kid’s going to need a real lock pick set. Not until John’s sure he’ll only use it for the right reasons, though. Dean still has a persistent sticky-finger habit, one John thinks he probably only catches half the time. Most of the time it’s small, stupid stuff. Beef jerky and gum at the convenience store when they stop for gas, anyone dumb enough to leave a nice full wallet or cash unattended within arms reach of Dean.

Every time it happens, John has a silent shouting match with himself. Sometimes if they’re in town for more than a few days, he and Dean can find work on a construction crew, but most of the time they get by on fake cards and bar hustles. It’s hard to draw the line separating one kind of stealing from the other, but John knows it’s there all the same.

John doesn’t know if this is really a good idea, but it comes down to him not wanting Dean to get nabbed by the local PD when they’re in the middle of a job.

He shoves aside the newspapers and takeout containers and takes a seat on the bed next to Dean, holds up the cuffs to show him the key hole.

With one hand, he unbends part of the paperclip, then jimmies it into the keyhole and uses the edges of the hole as a lever to make another small bend right at the end. A few seconds later the cuffs pop open.

Dean takes the pair of cuffs and the paperclip, and manages to pop open the second bracelet after a minute.

“It takes practice to do it quick, especially when your range of motion is limited,” John says. He hesitates a moment. “Give me your hands.”

Dean swallows. “Seriously?”

“Knowing how to do this isn’t gonna be much help if you can’t actually do it when you’re cuffed, is it?”

Dean pulls a face, but holds his hands out in front of him. Palms up, wrists close together. John snaps the cuffs shut and slips a new paperclip into Dean’s hand.

“I thought this was going somewhere very different when I saw the cuffs,” Dean bitches. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to have a little fun every once in a while.”

“Those aren’t my idea of fun.”

“Maybe you just need to give them a try.”

“Oh yeah? Have you given them a try?”

Dean’s lips pinch shut in annoyance, that would be a _no_ , and one cuff falls open. 

“Better,” John says. “Stand up and turn around.”

“Oh c’mon. Really?”

“You really think any cop worth half his salt is going to cuff you with your hands in front?”

Dean doesn’t answer, just lets out an annoyed huff of breath and does as he’s told. John clicks the cuff back in place and keeps one hand on the chain between them.

“Hand over the clip.”

“What clip?”

John tugs the chain. “Dean.”

“Fine.”

The bent paperclip from before materializes from somewhere up in Dean’s left sleeve. John takes it and hands him a new one. John lets go of the chain and watches Dean’s fingers fumble to bend the new clip and find the keyhole.

“Stop.”

Dean keeps trying to grab the cuffs by the pawl to hold them steady. John grabs his wrists and pulls them apart as far as they’ll go without hurting the kid.

“Keep your arms like this - it’ll give you more room to work, and the less slack there is in the chain the less the cuffs move around on you.”

He lets go. This time Dean manages to find the keyhole with relative ease to make the second bend in the clip. Releasing the cuff takes a little longer, but he gets there.

“Ha!” Dean turns, bringing his hands around in front of him and popping the other lock so he can rub at his wrists. The cuffs fall to the floor. “Come on, that was pretty good, right?”

“Better. You sure this is the first time you’ve done this?”

“Hey now, I’ll have you know I’ve never been arrested, thank you very much.”

“I’m sure. Sit down and do it again. This time, try not to broadcast what you’re doing. A cop’s not going to just sit around and watch if they think you’re trying to slip free.”

Dean grumbles but he picks up the cuffs and holds his arms out behind him so John can lock them back in place. John runs a hand up Dean’s left sleeve and then the right, finds not one but two picks tucked up under a thin leather wristband and pulls them out. Dammit, the first paperclip - he forgot to get it back. He takes them both and drops them on the nightstand, then hands Dean a fresh paperclip. Practice makes perfect.

Dean sits back down and John takes his own seat on the bed opposite.

“We’ve got a case up in Groveport, looks like a skinwalker,” John says. “Shoulders.”

Dean gives him a put-upon look but relaxes his shoulders. John can still see the small movements of his elbows as he tries to work the pick, but it’s not as obvious now.

“So, how do we kill it?”

“You tell me.”

“Shapeshifters are vulnerable to silver, right? The same thing go for skinwalkers?”

“Good. And look at me when we’re talking, when you look away it looks like you’re concentrating on something else. You want me to know that you’re concentrating on something else?”

Dean meets his eyes. “No.”

“What do we have that can take out a skinwalker?”

“Silver knives, silver bullets, grind it up into a powder and poison their doggie bowls, hell I dunno. Whatever works.”

John just watches Dean for a minute. He looks relaxed, feet planted on the floor and sitting up straight, but not too straight. His shoulders are down, and there’s just the barest hint of movement from his forearms. It’s taking longer than he expected - Dean is naturally dexterous, anything requiring fine motor control or hand-eye coordination he can usually pick up on pretty quick. Maybe the kid needed more practice at the mechanics of it before they moved on to stealth.

John stands up and walks around the side of the bed to see how he's doing.

The handcuffs are lying on the bed, open. Dean’s got his wrists held up and back like they’re still cuffed together in pantomime but when John circles the bed he drops his arms back down. 

Dean turns his head and raises an eyebrow.

John bites down on a grin. “How long’ve you had those off?”

“Long enough. Since you started talking about Groveport.”

“Bullshit.”

Dean smiles and winks at him. He picks up the cuffs from the bed and throws them over to John.

“So, did I pass?”

He must’ve used their conversation as a cover for the sound of the cuffs clicking open. John’s impressed, not that he’s planning to be obvious about it. He looks over the cuffs and notices a piece of metal sticking out of one keyhole. There’s a broken off piece of paperclip jammed inside. The cuff will close, but it won’t latch shut.

“Dammit, Dean.”

“Does this mean we’re done?”

John wipes a hand down his face and drops the cuffs back into Dean’s lap.

“Fix them. And if you can’t fix them, you’re buying me a new pair.”

Dean’s still grinning like an idiot. “Yessir. Hey, just in case - you prefer the fuzzy pink ones or the leopard print?”


End file.
